Our crew consisted of twenty-five seamen, including the boat-steerers, ranging in ability from Peter down to the green hands, of whom there were eight at starting on that voyage; the captain and five mates; and the cooper, the sailmaker, who could act on a pinch as cooper and as carpenter, the steward, the cook, and the boy, who was myself; thirty-six all told, enough to man the five boats and to leave six on the ship to work her if necessary. The boat-steerers are included among the seamen, but their standing on the ship was more that of petty officers.
All this time the ship was slowly forging ahead in the light air, and rising and falling lazily, and the light of the late afternoon sun was making the water to windward of a dazzling brightness, while I looked off to leeward over a quiet sea to the hazy horizon. There was not wind enough to keep the sails full, and now and then one fell against the mast and made a curious scraping sound until a puff of air drew it away again.
Peter was beginning on the sails of the ship. Now, what I knew about a square-rigged vessel was even less than I had known about the matter of lays, and I was feeling ashamed of my ignorance and rather hopeless. But as I looked off at the water, I saw, about two or three miles off, a little feathery puff of vapor rise, like the drooping white ostrich plume on Ann McKim’s hat. The feathery shaft of vapor rose lazily, and the sun shone on it and glorified it for a brief moment, and it drifted off slowly and vanished. And I watched it stupidly, and just as I came to and grasped Peter Bottom’s arm, there floated down to us from aloft a melodious cry.
“Bl-o-o-ows! Bl-o-o-ows!”
It was most deliberately given, and was a quavering, musical cry, running up and down the scale, much like a yodel. It was one of the black men who gave it. These black men always gave the cry more melodiously than a white man. They had had a man aloft all the afternoon.
That cry was music to me, and all the men were interested, especially the green hands, to whom it was as strange as it was to me.
Mr. Baker was waving his arms and beckoning, and the crews of the first and second mate’s boats were running, Peter Bottom among the best of them. The boats were still lashed at the davits, but it took only a few seconds to loose them and to begin to lower, two or three of the men in each boat beginning to overhaul the harpoons and lances and other gear. As soon as the boats struck the water, the falls were unhooked, and they pushed off from the side of the ship and lay there while the crew seemed to be busied with something on the thwarts, I could not see what, and the ship was slowly leaving them bobbing and drifting. I was just beginning to wonder about it when I saw that it was the mast and sail they were busy with. The second mate’s boat stepped her mast and spread the sail, but in Mr. Baker’s boat they abandoned that intention, and began rowing, while the ship kept off gradually on the same course as the boats.
By the time we had made our course Mr. Baker’s boat was well ahead and going strong, the five long oars dipping slowly and with a fair regularity, but with some splashing from the green hands. It occurs to me to say something about a whaleboat for the benefit of those who do not know the boats, and they must be many, for the whaleboat, especially the boat fully equipped for chasing whales, has become a very unfamiliar sight.
The whaleboat is sharp at both ends, and is built as lightly as is consistent with great strength. Its length is thirty feet; beam, six feet; depth at extreme ends, a trifle over three feet (thirty-seven inches in the boats of the Clearchus); depth amidships, twenty-two inches. It rides the seas like a cork, and the sense of buoyancy is surprising to any one who is not used to the boat. It has a centreboard, and is equipped with mast and sail, which can be set up when wanted. For the purpose of stepping the mast quickly, it has a sort of hinge to the thwart on the after side, and as it is raised, the foot slides down to the step in a guide, or channel, until the mast is erect, when the butt drops into the step. It is held in its place by stays, permanently fast to the mast near its head, above the hoist of the sail, one on each side, which are then made fast through eyes on the gunwales.
When the boat is going under sail it is steered by a rudder. This rudder is always carried, when not in use, close under the gunwale at the stern, outside the boat, of course. It is held in place by two small lines permanently fast to it, one at the heel of the rudder, the other up nearer its head, the inboard ends of the lines passing through holes in the port gunwale to cleats on the little deck at the stern. The rudder is always hung before the boat is lowered, as it would be a difficult matter to hang it in a seaway, and might consume much precious time. When fast to a whale, the mate hauls in on the upper line, unshipping the rudder, and makes the line fast to the starboard cleat; then he hauls in on the lower line, raising the heel of the rudder to the gunwale, and makes fast to the port cleat. This operation can be performed with a few turns of the hand, but many mates preferred the steering oar, which is twenty-two feet long, to the rudder, when at close quarters. A couple of sweeps with this great oar will usually lay the boat around, but with the rudder it is not easy. A whaleboat, because of its length and the comparative flatness of its keel, and the slight purchase of the rudder, will not come about easily under sail.